


Cerement

by spacehopper



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 16:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: A tower, a dagger, an ancient queen—and at the center of it all, Ardyn Izunia.





	Cerement

“Once,” Prompto said. “Just once can we go ten minutes without running into Nifs?” He scrambled out of the way of an axeman as Noct slashed it with his sword, taking off the head.

Upon a hill in front of them, a MA-X Patria dropped from the air, followed up another platoon of MTs. They’d already cut through dozens of them, and they just kept coming. There was no way this was a regular patrol, not in these numbers. There had to be a base, something. Noct warped to the top of a sturdy looking tree, trying to get a better view. But as he scanned the horizon, there was nothing. Just the endless forest and the howling wind. 

A shiver ran down Noct’s spine.

“Time to regroup,” Ignis called from below. 

“Wait,” Noct yelled back. He squinted into the distance. He swore he saw something. It almost looked like a castle, or a tower, glowing eerily under the storm dark sky. Maybe it was the tomb? But none of the other ones had looked quite so otherworldly. The wind picked up, and Noct was thrown free, only barely warping in time to a nearby boulder before tumbling to the ground. 

Fingers clenched around the rough stone, he shakily pulled himself to his feet, touching a hand to his forehead. It came away red. The trees swam before him, shifting and fading. A cry rang out.

“Ignis?” he said. Silence. “Gladio? Prompto!” 

He spun at the sound of steel sliding into flesh, the thud of a body hitting the ground, a grunt of pain. The endless green stretched around him, the trees shivering. 

“Tainted.” 

Noct spun around, but no one was there. No, wait. There was something, ephemeral forms shifting in the mist, twisted by the wind. He took a step forward, then another, then began to run.

“Betrayed.”

To his right. He spun and stabbed, and the mist snaked and slithered. He leaned heavily against an outcropping of rock, dark with rain, liquid slowly oozing down the surface.

Noct called fire to his hand, and scrambled back with a shout. It wasn’t rain. 

“Ignis!” Noct called. Where were they? They couldn’t possibly have disappeared, not so quickly. But there was no sign of the Nifs, and no sign of his friends. 

“Chosen.” A hand clamped down on his on shoulder, digging painfully into his flesh. He knew that voice. He summoned his sword to his hand, spinning and swinging wildly, but there was nothing there. The world wavered before his eyes, and he reeled, hitting the rock hard. 

Then he saw glowing yellows eyes, and felt hands clamp over his ears.

“Don’t listen,” Ardyn said, lips curling into a mockery of a smile. 

Silence. Then—

A hand shaking his shoulder, and another gently prodding his forehead. He tried to bat them away, struggling, trying to escape, from Ardyn, from whatever other ghosts lingered here. The silence was deafening, he had to get away, had to go there. Chosen, he was chosen, he was—

“Noct!” The voice sounded over the distance of eons, but Noct recognized it all the same. Ignis, it was Ignis. Not an illusion. His eyelids were leaden, but he had to look.

Ignis crushed a potion over his wound, and he felt it knit closed with a familiar tingling sensation. Prompto was hovering at his side, while Gladio stood some feet away, clearly keeping watch. The mist was gone, leaving only the rain damp forest.

“Ardyn,” Noct said, pushing himself up with shaky limbs. “Ardyn was here.”

“Chancellor Izunia?” Ignis said with a frown. “That would explain why the Nifs withdrew so abruptly.”

“Or maybe they were just impressed with our awesome fighting skills?” Prompto said with a weak laugh that quickly trailed off. “Yeah, probably not.”

“They could’ve taken us easy,” Gladio said, glancing over at them, eyes running down Noct. Checking for serious injury, probably. He nodded, seemingly concluding Noct was fine, before continuing. “So why didn’t they?”

“That guy has helped us before,” Prompto said. “Maybe it’s that again?” 

“But why did only Noct see him?” Ignis said. He gave Noct a questioning look. Noct shrugged.

“I don’t know, maybe he was busy.” Or maybe Noct was losing it. He wouldn’t be first. Not all of the kings and queens had been able to handle the power of the Crystal. Some had gotten a bit strange. But it was probably nothing. Just the head wound. No need to worry the others.

“What did he say?” Ignis asked. 

“He told me—” Don’t listen. “That we shouldn’t have any more trouble. Must’ve meant pulling out the MTs.”

“I believe we should remain on guard regardless of what the Chancellor said.” Ignis got to his feet and dusted off his pants. “Shall we continue?”

“Think we should get to the Haven, turn in for the night,” Gladio said.

“I could use some food,” Prompto said.

“And I’m tired,” Noct said. “Let’s go.”

“You’re always tired,” Prompto said, giving him a shove. Noct felt a little bit of warmth return as he shoved Prompto back, leading to a short chase before Gladio told them to stuff it or he’d stuff them. 

And yet when Noct looked back, he swore he saw a figure in the mist, doffing a hat.

*

The halls of the Citadel were teeming with activity, courtiers and servants and court officials bustling about their days. Once or twice, Noct thought he heard someone say his name, or whisper some arcane request. But he ignored them all.

He had to keep going.

The massive throne room doors loomed before him, and in front of them stood King Regis, pale and distant. Noct walked the final few steps, placing his hand lightly on the door. He felt fingers, cold and ephemeral, rest on his shoulder. 

“Don’t leave the path,” his father said. 

The doors swung open.

His footsteps were strangely muffled, as if he were walking on carpet, or a cushioned forest floor, rather than the hard stone of the throne room. On the floor before him, he saw a thin line of light stretching into the impenetrable darkness that surrounded the throne. He placed one foot on the line of light, and shuddered as something cold seemed to seep into his chest. Another step, and he grew colder still. 

As he made his way slowly to the throne, he saw shapes, of people, animals, daemons and machines. Some he thought he recognized. Gladio facing off against an impossible foe. Prompto hunched and shivering. Ignis screaming, crumpled in pain as light poured out of his eyes. Noct reached out, almost stopped. But no.

He had to stay on the path.

Glancing down at his hands, he distantly noticed they were white as bone. He rubbed them together, but it did little to help, like the cold was coming from within. And he wasn’t shivering anymore. But now he could see the throne, shining and golden inside the darkness. Perhaps there was a fire there. He took another step, almost slipped on stone like ice. But he caught himself, wincing as his hands were cut on thorns he couldn’t see. 

He had to stay on the path. 

As he slowly dragged himself to his feet, he saw the throne cast in radiant light. On it was a woman, blackened and withered, her heart transfixed by a golden dagger.

Noct recoiled, stumbling back. His foot slipped, and he fell.

As the darkness swallowed him, all he could hear was the howling of the wind.

*

“We should be reaching the tomb soon,” Ignis said.

Noct sighed. Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl as they trudged through the woods. 

“Do we really have to do this?” Prompto said. “The bugs are killing me.”

Something in his ear, not buzzing. More like breathing, hot and moist. There was an echo of heat on the back of his neck, and he rubbed the spot. It was wet.

“Less whining, more walking,” Gladio said. “And it’s better than MTs.”

A shadow streaked alongside the path. An animal, some trick of the light? 

“We’ve been walking for hours, are we sure there’s something to find?” Prompto said. 

The crunch of leaves, the whisper of a body passing too close to a tree. Noct whipped around. 

“Talcott’s information is generally reliable,” Ignis said.

The birds had gone silent.

“Yeah, but a disappearing tower?” Prompto said. 

Sunlight filtered through the trees on an empty clearing.

“Worth a look,” Gladio said.

He peered into the gloom. There was something there. He was sure of it.

“What do you think, Noct?” Prompto said.

Something was glowing, two pinpricks of light, eyes in the dark. Noct blinked. They were gone. Or were they?

“Noct?” Ignis said.

He conjured his sword, hand slippery on the hilt.

A hand slapped his shoulder.

He swung.

“Damn it, Noct!” Gladio stumbled backwards, barely avoiding the blow. He spun on the spot, scanning the forest wildly. There had to be something. He was sure of it.

“Noct?” Prompto said. He sounded worried. Noct shook his head, struggling to clear the fog. What was he doing?

“Sorry,” he said, letting the sword disappear. “Hearing things. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

They were all looking at him now. Looking at him like he was crazy. What did they want?

“Let’s go,” he said, heading into the darkness ahead. 

Then he realized he was alone. 

“Not again,” he said. This forest was cursed. Or maybe Noct was. Something was going on here, something beyond the normal magic of the tombs. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, catching just a glimpse before it disappeared. It looked like—

“Iris?” he said. “Iris!” She couldn’t be here, could she? But sometimes Iris got ideas, and she had said she’d liked hanging out with them. Had she decided to follow them? But that seemed unusually reckless. Iris wasn’t a little girl running after a cat anymore. It was probably nothing, an animal.

Then he saw her again, framed in a beam of sunlight, skirt torn and eyes wide. She looked to either side of her, then ran. 

“Iris!” Noct ran after her. Could the Nifs have grabbed her, taken her here? He had to catch up to her, to help her. As he got to the place where she’d been, he saw a pale hand slip deeper into the darkness of the forest.

Don’t leave the path. 

Noct dashed after her, heedless of the roots he stumbled over. Panic was rising in his chest. Whatever had Iris running like this, there was no way she could take it on her own. He had to help her, had to keep running, keep going—

The path ended, and he slid over the edge of some sort of cauldron, gravel and chips of stone slicing at his arms and face as he flailed to slow his fall. Finally he reached the bottom, a smooth raised circle. As he got to his feet, he saw there was some sort of emblem on it, too worn by time and the elements to make out. 

“Iris?” he said. But there was no sign of her. She must’ve gone a different way. He had to get back to her. He threw his sword, warping to the edge of the cauldron. He ran a few more minutes, and the forest seemed to brighten. He came to a clearing to find Iris kneeling and plucking flowers. He approached her slowly, not wanting to spook her. 

“Hey, Iris?” he said, crouching down beside her.

She turned, and her face was the color of ash. Noct stumbled back, scrambling to his feet as she staggered towards him, no longer Iris, but instead the withered figure on the throne. 

A hand covered his eyes.

“Don’t look,” Ardyn said, mouth brushing the back of his neck. Noct could hear her approaching, feel the cold ache in his bones. He struggled, trying to free himself, but Ardyn just held him tighter. Then he felt the sharp edge of teeth on his neck, pain electric as Ardyn bit down. 

Noct gasped. 

Then felt someone shaking him, the warmth of familiar hands on his bare arms.

“Noct, what happened?” Ignis said. 

“Yeah, man, one minute you were there, the next, you’d vanished!” Prompto said, shifting nervously. 

“Was it Ardyn?” Ignis said. 

“It was—” Don’t look. “Nothing. I just got lost, must’ve hit my head when I fell in here.”

“Hmm,” Gladio said. “Well, let’s get moving.” He clearly didn’t believe Noct. Neither did Ignis or Prompto, from the doubtful look they shared. But it didn’t matter. It was just some weird dream.

“C’mon,” Noct said, warping back to the top of the cauldron.

From his vantage point, he saw Prompto open his mouth and Ignis hold up a quelling hand. He ignored it all. He just wanted to get this over with. After a few minutes passed, Gladio overtook him, leading the way, while Ignis brought up the rear and Prompto hovered nearby. He suppressed the urge to snap at them. They were clearly protecting him. And why wouldn’t they? That was their job after all. 

Prompto tripped, yelping before catching himself on a tree. The sound rang out in the unnatural stillness of the forest. It wasn’t just Noct, then. He could see the tension in Gladio’s shoulders, the way Ignis pursed his lips and Prompto shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. 

And it was getting dark. 

“There’s supposed to be a spot to camp along the river,” Ignis said.

“Then that’s where we head,” Gladio said.

It was full dark when they finally made it, exhausted not just from walking but from the wrongness the had gotten stronger the closer they’d gotten to the river. 

“This is where it’s supposed to be, right?” Prompto said. He was looking at Noct, who shrugged.

“Yes,” Ignis said. 

There was nothing there.

“Dead end,” Noct said with a sigh. 

“Set up camp?” Ignis asked, nodding at the glowing runes a bit down the river.

“Sounds good to me,” Noct said. 

But he couldn’t help look back once, and for a moment, he thought he saw something else glowing across the water. 

*

“Do you know the tale of the Elder Queen?” Ardyn said. He was twirling a shining dagger in his hand, the same gold as his eyes, and the pillars of the hall they were in. There was a window behind him. Through it, Noct could see the darkening sky. He knew, somehow, that this was no natural sunset, but something far more deadly. 

The nights were getting longer.

“No,” Noct said. He was seated in an ornate chair, icons carved into the arms. He ran his fingers over the wood, trying to make out the figures. The Astrals, walking among the people.

“Not many do,” Ardyn said. He flipped the dagger into the air. Noct watched it, mesmerized by the way the rising moon caught lines of silver in the blade. Then Ardyn plucked it out of the air with a twist of his hand too fast for Noct to see. 

“It’s a sad story,” he continued. “She was a great healer, you see. Honored among her people, beloved, even. But in the end when the Starscourge began to spread, she couldn’t save herself. She was too old, you see. Age had come even to one as great as her.”

Noct tried to stand, but his muscles wouldn’t obey him, held by some strange magic. All he could do was watch as Ardyn came up behind him, placing a proprietary hand on his shoulder, fingers lightly tracing the line of his throat. 

“Luckily, her grandson was just as talented as she had been in her prime. So she sent for him. But he never made it there. So rather than succumb to the Starscourge, the queen impaled herself on her own dagger.”

The dagger was in his hand. On it, Noct saw Ifrit wreathed in flame

“Over the river and through the woods,” Ardyn whispered into his ear, then plunged the dagger into Noct’s heart. Ardyn cradled Noct in his arms as he crumpled, stroking his hair while the world went black around him.

*

He jerked awake clutching his chest and breathing hard. A dream, only a dream. He just needed some air. 

Crawling out of the sleeping bag, he spared a glance for the others, still sound asleep. It was better this way. Ignis especially worried too much. He unzipped the tent flap and ducked into the cold night air, rubbing his arms for warmth. Across the river, lit by moonlight, he saw a tower. A tower that definitely hadn’t been there when they’d made camp. He shivered, then glanced back at the tent. He’d just take a closer look. He didn’t need to bother the others.

After all, they’d never seen the tower. 

He grabbed the King’s Knight hoodie Prompto had left on one of the camp chairs and tugged it on as he made his way down to the edge of the river. It was a good thing the moon was full, or he’d have tripped on a half-dozen rocks as he made he was way down. Once there, he stopped in his tracks. A boat bobbed against the bank, worn but seemingly in working condition, with gold lettering on the side he couldn’t quite make out. That definitely hadn’t been there before. He walked over to the boat, resting a hand on the side, red paint peeling off under his fingers. He should go back for the others. 

But Ignis would never go for it. He’d rightly say that it was all too convenient. And Gladio would agree, suspicious of anything he couldn’t fight. Prompto would be the final nail in the coffin, always preferring not to see whatever it was the dark concealed. 

And Noct had to get to that tower. 

Before he could think better of it, he pushed the boat into the water and leapt inside. There was a small motor on the back, which moaned and shuddered to life under his hands. Spray licked his face as he peered into the fog that had gathered on the far shore. In addition to the tower, he could make out the shapes of what seemed to be a cluster of ruined buildings. Some sort of abandoned town?

The boat thudded against the remains of a pier, cement pitted and cracked. Noct grabbed onto the edge, then pulled back with a hiss. A sluggish line of blood crawled across his palm, dampening the cuff of Prompto’s hoodie. Good thing it was red; maybe the blood wouldn’t show. He reached more carefully this time and pulled himself up. A path lead from the pier to the tower. As he took a step towards the path, the wind suddenly picked up, whispering through the trees. A warning. He spared a look for the far shore, but he couldn’t see the haven any longer. Squaring his shoulders, he took another step forward. He’d come this far. Might as well keep going. 

He picked his way along the path, keeping an eye on the ruins to either side as he went. It had been shockingly quiet, not even a goblin or an imp crossing his path. Yet he couldn’t help but feel like they were there, just out of sight. He heard the ominous creak of an Iron Giant, and whirled around, blade flashing to hand. But there was nothing, just a breeze stirring a handful of withered leaves from their resting place. His hand flexed on the blade, then he sighed, letting it go. The sooner he got to the tower, the better.

Despite that, he found himself examining the ruins he passed. They looked recently abandoned, like their owners had been gone decades, not centuries. But he’d never heard of a town out here, and Ignis hadn’t mentioned one, nor had Talcott. And the few signs he could see were in a script he didn’t recognize. 

The path snaked into the woods, shrouded in fog. Noct pushed forward, brittle branches cracking like bones beneath his boots. A hill led up to the tower, the incline increasing as he climbed higher. Jagged stones jutted like teeth along the sides of the path. Noct shivered despite the hoodie. As if in response, a warm, wet wind howled past him, pushing away the chilling fog. He reached the summit, and looked back over the desolate town. The trees moved in the wind like they were caught in molasses, and for a moment, he thought he saw figures on the path, bathed in the light from an unseen sun, transfixed by the sight of the tower. Then the fog swallowed the town, and Noct turned back to the tower. 

Behind a snarl of thorny bushes, he could make out the doors of the tower. They were different than the ones he’d seen before, the same strange writing from the town following their arched lines. He summoned his sword to hack at the brush, clearing a path before him. The brambles were tougher than he’d expected. As he pushed past, they caught on his sleeves, rending cloth and skin. His breath came fast as he tried to pull free, but his struggles only wrapped him tighter in their barbed grasp. He wanted to shout for help, but there was no one here. He’d left them. Why had he left them? He shook his head. As the thorns bit into his throat, a moment of clarity hit him. The dreams. Ardyn. Was that why he was here?

No. The Dagger of the Elder. The Royal Arms.

He swung the Axe of the Conqueror. The brush seemed to shy away from its arc, falling to its light where it has resisted the cut of the Engine Blade. He chopped again, clearing his way and throwing himself onto the threshold of the tower door. His right sleeve tore as he pulled away, a scrap of fabric remaining behind, waving like a macabre banner in the wind. 

The door was open.

He couldn’t recall now whether it had been open all along, or if something had happened while he’d struggled with the bushes. He snorted. Gladio’d probably have laughed if he were here, watching Noct flail in a fight against plants. He held out his arms to examine the cuts, and winced at the sight of the hoodie. It’d been a limited deluxe edition collector’s item. Prompto was going to kill him. 

Well, he’d kill him if Noct made it out alive. No way to go but forward. 

His footsteps echoed in the massive hall. The only light came from slits set high in the walls where the moonlight filtered in. What little he could see was cracked stone and broken tile. He took another step inside, then frowned. There was some sort of painting on the far wall. A figure dressed in black, wreathed in light, with a hand held towards the heavens, as if asking for a benediction. But he couldn’t make out the face. He took another step, foot catching on a tile and pitching him forward. 

He fell onto his hands and knees, gritting his teeth as the rubble dug into the cut on his palm. Taking a steadying breath, he looked up at the figure, but it was still too dark. He’d kill himself trying to make it over there in the dark. As he got carefully to his feet, he called flames into his palm, holding it out to the painting. He saw the hint of stubble on the jaw, a lock of hair of indeterminate color. A shadow moved. He flung the fire, and illuminating a broken statue of some animal. Sweat pricked on his palms. He called fire again. Took another step forward. And sighed. The fire seemed to have damaged the painting. It had to be ancient, paint peeling and running. It was likely too damaged even before he’d torched it. He lifted a finger, running it along the hint of a jaw. 

A clatter behind him. He pivoted, summoning the axe again, not willing to leave it to chance this time. Shadows shifted, and the earth rumbled and growled beneath his feet. 

“What the hell,” he said. He imagined Prompto panicking, Gladio hefting his greatsword, Ignis’s careful analysis of the sound.

But he was alone.

He took a step back, then another. The rumbling intensified, and he stumbled, catching himself on a wall. He’d thought he’d heard an Iron Giant before. Maybe now he’d be meeting it. He almost wanted it. Better than the eerie emptiness he’d seen so far. He took another step back, hefting the axe.

Red light flared around him, and his stomach dropped. He slammed to the floor in a room much brighter and better preserved than before. On the floor below him was an emblem he’d seen once before, in the Solheim ruins. As he got to his feet, he saw a sarcophagus before him, larger than the ones in the other tombs they’d been to. But like those tombs, there was an effigy on it, with a golden dagger clutched in its hands. 

He approached, dust stirring under his feet and catching in the strange light. It seemed diffused throughout the room, warm like sunlight, but from no source he could find. There was a prickling along his spine, like someone was watching. Many someones, specters of a fallen empire. But there was no going back now. He stood in front of the effigy, raised his arm, shreds of the sleeve dangling around it.

Froze. 

On the dagger sat Ifrit wreathed in flame. He’d seen it before. His other hand drifted over his chest, a phantom pain sharp in his heart. His fingers curled into a fist, and he dropped his arm to his side. It was just a dream.

The dagger rose glowing red into the air. He braced himself, waiting for the inevitable plunge into his chest. But it had always been sharp, cold. Not the heat of his dream. The echo of heat on the back of his neck.

Golden eyes.

Noct yelped as he was dragged down by a large hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him against the now warm body atop the sarcophagus. 

“How lovely to see you, my dear,” Ardyn said. He flung an arm out to the side, and the dagger sprang to it, solidifying in his grasp. “Right on time.” 

“Time for what?” he said through clenched teeth. Some sort of trap, then.

Ardyn tugged him close enough that Noct could feel his stubble against his cheek. “For her, dear boy,” he said, gesturing with the dagger. “Now do be polite and greet your grandmother.”

He opened his hand, and Noct fell back, swinging his arms to keep his balance. A figure shifted in an alcove he hadn’t noticed before, or maybe it hadn’t been there. It was clothed in long black robes, white hair draped like a mantle across its back. A low moan arose from it, pitching slowly up into a shriek as it lifted its ashen head. Noct met its eyes, seeping dark holes. He looked down to its chest. It was hard to tell, but he thought he could see fabric ripple around the dark shroud, as if a hole had been cut where the heart was. 

The Elder Queen.

“Do be a good boy and fight it, won’t you?” Ardyn said, resting a hand on his shoulder. Noct jerked away in shock. He’d been so focused on the daemon, or the Elder Queen, or whatever it was, that he hadn’t realized Ardyn had gotten up from the slab.

“Can’t you do anything?” Noct hissed. 

“Oh, I’m afraid I’m woefully unarmed, and not a terribly skilled fighter,” Ardyn said. He gave Noct a small bow with a flourish of his hand. “But then, what need have I, with a prince as brave and skilled as yourself to protect me?”

“I’m not here to protect you,” Noct said. But he called the axe to hand regardless. He might not be here to protect Ardyn, but he was damn well going to protect himself, and anyone else the daemon might threaten if it got out. “And you have that dagger, don’t you?” he said, sparing a glance for Ardyn. 

Ardyn twirled the dagger, just as he had in the dream. “Oh, this old thing?” He shook his head. “I’m afraid it won’t be of much use against her.”

She’d stabbed herself, Noct remembered. To end her life before the corruption could take hold. But it hadn’t worked. 

“No,” Ardyn said. “Only one of the line of Lucis can stop her now. So I defer to you.” 

“Damn it, Ardyn,” he yelled as Ardyn retreated to a safe distance before spinning to face the daemon. She had no weapons that he could see, but that had never stopped daemon from being unnervingly lethal before. And Ardyn had said she’d been a powerful healer. Who knew how the Starscourge might have corrupted that?

Ignis might have, if Noct hadn’t been so dumb, going alone. And Prompto would make some comment borne of a combo of fear and bravado, while Gladio told them all to stop yammering and swung his sword. 

Why had he come alone?

“Damn it,” he said, to himself this time. He held up the axe in a defensive stance, but instead of attacking, the daemon stopped a few feet from him. She reached out a spectral hand. For the axe? Her head tilted to the side. No, for him. She recognized him, somehow, as corrupted as she was. Ardyn called her the Elder Queen, but Noct knew, somehow, that even if her line ruled, she never had. She’d lived before Lucis, and died with the fall of Solheim. 

She moved her mouth, and sound croaked from her lips.

“What are you saying?” he said. “What do you want?”

He was reminded suddenly of the naga asking after her children. He’d never gotten an answer from her either. 

But instead of attacking, she looked beyond Noct, to Ardyn. And mouthed a word Noct recognized.

Chosen.

He glanced back to Ardyn, to see if he’d noticed, but saw no sign of him. Vanished into thin air again. 

“Creep,” he muttered. He turned back to the daemon in time to see the golden blade of a dagger sprout from her chest.

“Now!” 

Ardyn had somehow come up behind the daemon while he’d distracted her. Without thinking, Noct swung the axe, wedging it deep into her neck. Her sudden shriek was abruptly cut off, and the strange darkness of her eyes seemed to fade as Noct yanked the axe free, and she fell to the floor. To his surprise, Ardyn caught her, gently lowering her down.

“Rest now,” he said, one hand stroking her hair. Then she dissolved before his eyes, mingling with the dust still floating in the air. The dagger felt to the floor with a clatter, and Ardyn picked it up and tucked it into his belt.

“I thought you said the dagger wouldn’t work,” Noct said as Ardyn got to his feet, slapping at his coat in a vain attempt to remove the dust. 

“I lied,” Ardyn said, advancing on Noct. “Or rather, only told you half the truth. It wouldn’t work on its own, but with your generous aid, it worked quite handily.”

“My aid?” Noct said.

“Yes, please don’t repeat me, it makes you seem dreadfully dull. Your fantastic axe there was the key ingredient.”

“What about the dagger?” Noct said. “It’s a Royal Arm, isn’t it?” But even as he said it, he knew it was wrong. It had risen into the air, but there’d been something different about it. Something darker.

“So many questions, sweet prince,” Ardyn said. He took another step forward, and Noct stumbled back, hitting the edge of the stone sarcophagus. “But I have one for you. Why did you come here?”

Ardyn was so close now he could feel the heat coming off his body. And Noct was petrified, hands digging into the stone behind him despite the pain from his wounds.

“Consorting with the Chancellor of Niflheim,” Ardyn said, clicking his tongue, “what would your friends say?” He traced a finger down Noct’s cheek, too sharp fingernail scoring the skin. Noct stared up at his face. His teeth flashed white and sharp as he smiled.

“Hmm, the silent treatment, is it?” Ardyn said. But then he seemed to notice the cuts from the thorns, shaking his head and lifting one of Noct’s arms. “But first, maybe we should deal with this?” He patted the stone as if it were an examining a table, and he the least professional doctor Noct had ever met. And yet Noct found himself scrambling up.

What adrenaline had been sustaining seemed to have drained out, because as he tried to use his arms to lever himself up, they went boneless. He’d have tumbled to the floor had Ardyn’s arm not gripped him around the waist. 

“Oh, you are in a bad state,” he said. His lips brushed Noct’s neck as he held him there, arm tightening as he helped Noct onto the stone surface. He let him go, and reached into his coat to pull out a delicate handkerchief, which he raised to Noct’s face. Noct shied away automatically, but Ardyn put a firm hand on the back of his head, holding him in place. 

“Just cleaning off the dirt,” Ardyn said, dabbing at his face. “It is so dusty in here, isn’t it?” 

“What was that?” Noct croaked out, finally finding his voice. Ardyn paused his ministrations.

“I thought you knew?” he said. “Please, take off that dreadful hoodie.”

Despite the hoodie being beyond destroyed, and the room being fairly warm, Noct hesitated. He felt that it acted as some sort of feeble armor against Ardyn, some small spell of warding against whatever was happening here.

He pulled the hoodie off and tossed it aside. 

Ardyn smiled.

“That’s better,” he said. 

Noct shivered as Ardyn turned his left arm over in gentle hands. Normally he’d have had the arm guard there to protect him from the thorns, but he’d been in such a hurry to get to the tower. Ardyn produced a drinking flask, a small vial of golden liquid, a roll of bandages seemingly from nowhere, and set them on the sarcophagus. He wet the handkerchief from before with the water from the flask, and began to clean the cuts on Noct’s arm with more skill and efficiency than he would have expected. After he seemed satisfied with the job he’d done, he wrapped the arm in bandages before turning to the other. 

“Now,” Ardyn said as he worked, “back to my question. Why did you come here, Prince Noctis?”

“I—” Noct swallowed. Why had he?

“Let me propose a theory,” Ardyn said. Noct hissed as he pressed too hard on a particularly deep cut.

“My apologies,” Ardyn said. “I theorize that perhaps you feel stifled. Always bound to duty, bound to your people. To prophecy. Perhaps once, you just wanted to take something for yourself.” Noct’s eyes darted to the dagger where it rested in Ardyn’s belt. Arydn’s lips curled. He unsheathed the dagger and used it to cut the bandage, then set it on the stone. He tied the ends off, the leaned in.

“Don't go into the woods, Noct,” he murmured. “Not alone, not without shield and gun and silver tongue. Never alone, not really. Never free.” 

Noct rested a shaking hand on Ardyn’s shoulder, to push him away. To pull him closer.

“Chosen,” Ardyn whispered into his hair, then pulled back slightly. 

“This is the part,” Ardyn said, sliding his hands under Noct’s shirt, “where we have a nice talk. Where I tell you how dangerous it is to go into the woods. To wander from the path that’s been set for you.” Noct raised his arms as Ardyn pulled his shirt over his head. “Who knows what beast lurks there.” His breath ghosted over Noct’s lips.

Golden eyes met his, and Noct lifted his hand to touch the crow’s feet at the corner’s of Ardyn’s eyes, then moved to slide through his strange violet tinged hair. Ardyn’s hands raised goosebumps on his skin as they stroked down his back, then turned palm up to press against the hard muscles of his stomach. The pressure wasn’t enough to force Noct down, but he knew that was what Ardyn wanted. His eyes fell shut as Ardyn’s fingers skated across his chest, and he let out a small sound when they lingered over one of his nipples. 

Ardyn buried his face in Noct’s throat, mouthing the skin there. Then Ardyn’s teeth sunk into his skin, a bright point of pain that shot straight to his groin. His eyes flew open, and he turned his head to see the dagger still lying there. He reached for it, clenching his hand around it hard enough to hurt.

The dagger soared across the room.

He was trembling, he realized distantly, as he got to his feet on the other side of the chamber. Ardyn was turning around to face him, leaning back against the sarcophagus. Like he was waiting for Noct. A small smile crossed his lips, and his hair fell into his face before he pushed it out of the way. Noct knew what that hair felt like, those hands on his skin. He smoothed his free hand down his bare chest, Ardyn’s warmth still lingering there. The teleporter that have brought him here was in easy reach, glowing with a crimson malevolence to his left. His hand drifted to his pocket, where he could feel the rectangular outline of his phone. 

Quicker than thought, he was across the room, dagger pressed to Ardyn’s throat, harsh breaths welling up from his throat. Ardyn’s eyes were wild not with fear but excitement. And Noct hated him.

“Is this what you really want?” Ardyn said, holding his hands up in surrender. 

Noct could feel sweat running down his back from the exertion, the annoying itch of his hair brushing his cheek. The dagger slipped in his hand, nicking Ardyn’s throat. 

It fell with a clatter as Noct fisted a hand in Ardyn’s shirt and dragged him down into a kiss. He didn’t have the faintest clue what he was doing, but Ardyn seemed to, taking control of the kiss, then nipping at Noct’s lip. He shuddered, tasted blood. Ardyn grabbed his hips and hoisted him onto the slab, then knelt before him. Noct couldn’t seem to stop shaking. He shouldn’t be doing this, _couldn’t_ be doing this. Not with Ardyn, not now, not ever. Ardyn began to unlace his boots, clever fingers making quick work of them, then pulling them off and setting them to the side. The socks followed, leaving Noct’s feet bare, and somehow that was worse, better, than the shirt. Ardyn kissed his ankle, and he couldn’t suppress the small moan. 

Ardyn got to his feet and moved to enfold Noct in his arms. He was shivering, he realized. Ardyn petted his hair, and he leaned into the touch.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you,” Ardyn said. 

“Shut up,” Noct said. But he didn’t pull away. Instead he tipped his head back as Ardyn bent down, to give him better access to his neck. Ardyn nuzzled the spot he’d bit earlier, then ran his tongue along it. Noct’s fingers fumbled for something, anything to hold onto, and found Ardyn’s coat.

“Are you afraid?” Ardyn said, pulling back. His hands were on Noct’s fly, toying with the fabric. He massaged the hardness underneath, and Noct bucked into the touch.

“No.” He gasped as Ardyn undid his fly, his hands on Noct’s skin, touch fleeting before he laid him bare, pants and boxers joining the discarded shirt and hoodie. Ardyn’s hair fell into eyes like fire, and his lips quirked into a smile. 

“Hmm, quite the picture you paint,” Ardyn said, pacing around the sarcophagus, grinning wolfishly. “Laid in effigy. Just like all the kings and queens before you.” Ardyn picked up the small vial from before, uncorked it. Golden oil dribbled down his fingers. “Well, almost all.”

Before Noct could ask what he was talking about, he’d grabbed Noct by the hips and hauled him to the edge of the slab, oil smearing on his skin. One wet finger glided along his skin, along his length for one exquisite moment before moving down to press inside him. 

He squirmed at the intrusion, and Ardyn halted his progress. 

“Is this not what you want, Noct?” he said. The casual familiarity of the nickname left him feeling more exposed than his nudity, the touching, pressing. 

“No,” he said, licking his lips. “I mean yes. I want this.”

Wanted it all.

“Good,” Ardyn breathed, then pushed two fingers inside him and twisted. 

Noct contorted on the slab, pleasure and pain mingling as Ardyn pulled out to add more oil and press in again. 

“Relax,” Ardyn said, running a gentling hand along his thigh. He bent over to kiss Noct, and the acrid last of blood from Noct’s bitten lip filled his mouth as the cut re-opened. Somehow, Noct relaxed, eyes drooping shut as Ardyn’s fingers left him aching and empty. He lay supine, waiting for Ardyn to act, always one step ahead.

His only warning was a hand cupping his rear to hold him steady before Ardyn plunged inside him in one long stroke. He cried out, the sound echoing in the empty tomb. 

“Oh, you are sweet, aren’t you,” Ardyn said. With the hand not holding Noct in place, he grabbed his forearm, fingers curling in the flesh, five points of clawing discomfort. Ardyn tightened his grip, and Noct arched against him, pulling him deeper and clenching around him. The room seemed to darken, light coalescing in a halo around Ardyn, but never quite touching him. Almost as if it couldn’t. Noct drew in a shaky breath. 

“Ardyn,” he said, then moaned as Ardyn began to move faster. Noct writhed under him, everything too much. Ardyn’s nails on his arms seemed to turn to talons, and he focused on it, on how it centered him here, now. In this room lost in time, where duty had turned to dust before his eyes. 

Ardyn let go, only to roughly handle his cock, stroking to match his own pace. Noct whimpered, jerking his hips up.

“You like it, don’t you,” Ardyn said, words like honey on his lips. “Like loss of control. The suffering. A martyr in his tomb.” 

Noct couldn’t speak, could barely make a sound as he came on Ardyn’s hand, and watched smug satisfaction curl on his lips as the relentless rhythm continued. In this moment of clarity, Noct could feel the blood seeping through the bandages, the wounds bleeding from the pressure. He let his head fall to the side and watching the crimson spread as Ardyn thrust in again and again, both hands now on his hips, seizing him with bruising force. 

“A pity,” Ardyn said, sounding breathless himself. “That you are so beautiful.”

He buried himself deep, and Noct could feel him coming inside him, as he watched the dust motes mix with blood on the slab. 

Ardyn pulled out, and a handful of seconds pass before Noct felt the brush of lips on his forehead, too boneless and exhausted to move. 

“Come, get up,” Ardyn said. 

Noct remained where he was, eyes shut. The stone wasn’t comfortable, but right now it felt like a feather bed.

Ardyn sighed, and Noct was dragged to his feet, stumbling and catching himself on the edge. Ardyn threw his clothing, and he somehow managed to catch it.

“You don’t want to go back to your friends like that, do you?” he said. 

Noct’s mouth was too dry to speak, but he shook his head, pulling on the clothing, then his boots. He hesitated when he got to the hoodie. It was cold, but the damn thing was destroyed. And it looked like Prompto would have a chance to kill him after all. He let it drop to the ground.

A length of black fabric brushed his arm, and he looked up to see Ardyn holding it out to him. “A cerement,” he said.

Noct didn’t know the word, but he knew why he recognized it. The Elder Queen had worn it.

“I can’t put that on,” he said.

“Would you rather freeze?” Ardyn asked. “It is a bit of a way back.”

“I—” Noct hesitated, then took it from Ardyn, wrapping it around him like a cloak. “Fine.”

“Good,” Ardyn said, then swept Noct into his arms, carrying him bridal style. Noct let out a startled yelp, flinging his arms around Ardyn’s neck.

“What are you doing?” he said, struggling even as he held on while Ardyn walked to the red circle. 

“I have no real desire to carry you, but you’re in no state to be walking back,” Ardyn said. A small, satisfied smile crossed his lips. Noct flushed, and stopped struggling.

His stomach dropped as they made the transition, and he spared one more glance for the blackened painting in the entrance hall. Ardyn had mentioned a grandson in the dream. Maybe that was him, waiting forever on the threshold to heal his grandmother. 

As the reached the bushes, Noct saw the scraps of red fabric were still caught on the thorns, like spatters of blood, drawn as the price of entry. His arms twinged at the thought. But it wouldn’t matter soon. He’d be back at camp, and a potion would fix it up.

Back at camp. The camp they’d made to get—

“The dagger,” Noct said. “Where is it?”

“Oh, Noct, it’s not for you,” Ardyn said. “Tainted, unfortunately. I left it in the tower.”

There was something wrong with that, something Noct knew he was forgetting. But as they walked through the town, he found his eyes drooping shut, his head resting against Ardyn’s chest. He didn’t feel safe. But his heart was warm, alive. 

He drifted off at some point, only stirring as he was lowered onto a sleeping bag, dawn breaking on the horizon. He saw Ignis standing in front of Ardyn, Gladio leveling his sword at him, while Prompto placed a worried hand on his shoulder.

“Please, no need for hostilities. I simply found him in a rather poor state, wandering the woods, and thought I’d return him to you,” Ardyn said.

They all looked at Noct, who swallowed. Ardyn was covering for him. His eyes locked on Ardyn’s hand, and he remembered what they’d felt like, pressing inside him, the pain a welcome release. He looked away. 

“Yeah, sorry. I just—saw a daemon. Nearby. Thought I could take it.”

“You idiot,” Gladio said, while Ignis sighed and Prompto’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Prompto’s hand was so much smaller. 

“Thank you,” Ingis said like the words cost him. 

“Not a problem at all,” Ardyn said with a bow.

“Will you join us for breakfast?” Ignis asked. Always polite. Always wary. Always watching.

“No, I’m afraid I’ve already had my fill,” Ardyn said. His eyes met Noct’s, a predatory gleam in them. Something burned deep in Noct, and for a moment, he was back in the tower, caught in one ecstatic moment.

Then Ardyn turned with a flare of his coat.

“What happened, man?” Prompto asked.

“Nothing,” Noct said, pulling the shroud tighter around him and burying his head into a pillow.

“Wait, where’s my hoodie?” Prompto said.

“Daemon ate it,” Noct muttered. He just needed to sleep now. Needed to forget. 

“Aw, really?” Prompto said.

“Happily, that seems to have been the greatest loss from this foolhardly quest,” Ignis said. “Please refrain from doing that again.”

“Ever lost a limited deluxe collector’s edition hoodie?” Prompto said. “Those things are expensive!”

After the bickering had died down and they’d packed up the camp, Noct spared one glance for the river behind them. On the far shore, he saw a man in black, waving farewell. He turned away. Best not to stray from the path.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you see any typos, I'll be happy to fix them! And thanks for reading!


End file.
